


Challenge Accepted

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, RPF, Sexting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://darrencrisshasruinedmylife.tumblr.com/">darrencrisshasruinedmylife</a> requested <a href="http://darrencrisshasruinedmylife.tumblr.com/post/50586271267/i-bet-christopher-has-like-100s-of-selfie-pictures">Chris teasing Will with sexy photos while he’s at work</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge Accepted

"I tried counting the number of shoe pictures that I took at Coachella," Chris says. "I stopped because I got bored after seventy three."

"This, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that you were buzzed the entire time we were there and kept getting distracted by the shiny," Will replies.

"Shut up and go back to work; one day I hope to become a pampered house husband and you've got a long way to go."

It's testament to how fucking awesome their relationship is that marriage jokes don't even make them skip a beat. 

Chris messages him pictures more or less nonstop that day, all sorts of things--pictures from their vacations and dates interspersed with pictures of Brian and then when he gets distracted he starts forwarding stuff he finds on Instagram, mostly dinosaur and cat gifs, each with a zingy one liner attached. 

He smiles moonily at all the pictures of them kissing and hugging, some taken by friends and some in the selfie style. The ones of Chris by himself make him grin a little wider; he used to be pretty vain about selfies, but Chris is just--suffice it to say he'd rather stare at Chris than himself, now.

And then he gets a text, "Ooh, look what I found."

And it's a picture of Chris in swim trunks and nothing else, dripping water poolside one of the weekends they'd gone over to his family's house.

"Tease," he texts back.

"Challenge accepted," is the reply.

He's not really surprised when certain pictures begin to pop up after that--some that he'd forgotten they'd taken in the heat of the moment or when one or both of them had been drunk, mostly blurry movement shots of Chris taking his clothes off or vice versa.

It's most definitely not turning this into a productive work day, but he's seen them all before. He loosens his shirt collar and sits back, enjoying the warm sexy buzz beneath his skin because he knows that he can go home on time today and--

And then there's a picture of Chris in bed, asleep, a morning erection tenting his briefs, the hard curve proud between two pale, strong thighs.

He texts back, "Christopher."

He doesn't get an answer, but he does get more pictures, pictures that he has only vague memories of them taking when they'd first slept together; Chris' messy hair between his legs, Chris' strong hand around his cock, a wide shot of Will's own back spread and bent taken by Chris who had been kneeling behind him at the time, one where all you can see is his hair and flash but that Will knows is one of him sucking Chris off in the bathroom one morning.

Fucking unfair.

He can't keep picking up his phone, though he knows it's a bad idea, as his arousal just keeps getting more and more noticeable. 

Eventually, his phone buzzes and he picks it up and goes right to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself and opening the message.

It's a new photo; this time it's just Chris's hand over a denim-clad bulge and the text, "Hot off the presses."

"Fuck," Will curses.

The thing is, he can't leave early. It's enough of a miracle that he can leave on time--so he stands there, half-hard in his jeans, palming himself but unwilling to go any farther than that--he doesn't want to do anything, at least not to himself.

He wants to go home and fucking ravish his asshole boyfriend.

The hours tick by slowly but they do pass, and by the time he makes it back to his place (where Chris is staying this week), he's fully erect in his pants and hoping that Chris put the dog away because if he has to deal with anything nosing against his crotch besides a certain someone, he's going to snap.

Chris is in the entryway by the time Will's shaking hands get the door open and before he can even crack the witty joke that Will knows has been waiting all afternoon to be cracked, he grabs Chris around the hips and pushes him against the hallway just next to the coat rack and kisses him hard enough to make their teeth clack together.

"How was work?" Chris teases.

Will grabs Chris' hand and presses it against his cock. "Hard."

"Aw, poor baby," is the crooned response.

He is far, far too gone for the teasing, and doesn't hesitate to jerk Chris' jeans open, and then his own, scrambling them both out of their sweaty underwear. He'd wanted to suck Chris off, but now that he has their cocks in his hand he can't imagine moving.

Chris wraps a leg around the back of his knee and thrusts up into the channel of his sweaty fist and they both breath in, harsh and fast, when Will begins jerking them, messy and unbalanced in one hand. They hardly fit, but the press of their bellies is enough to keep them upright and together.

"Fuck, just like that," Chris breathes, tilting his head--which is an immediate invitation for Will to bite at the softest part of his throat. There are faint teeth marks when he pulls back and he dives back in to lick across them, making Chris shudder.

"Come on," he pants, twisting his fist. "Come on. Fucking come on me."

"Will," Chris whines.

They kiss, wet and fast, and it feels so fucking good to just rut like this, the images that Chris has been sending him all day speeding like the most pornographic slideshow ever made across his mind's eye.

Chris twitches and thrusts and comes without warning, spilling wet over Will's fist. It takes Will a few minutes longer but it's better, mostly Chris' fingers around him and the lubrication of Chris' own come taking the burning edge off of the friction.

Chris' mouth sucks hard spots into the side of his collarbone and that's all it takes; he gasps and thrusts, so hard that Chris is slammed back into the wall. His pants fall around his knees as he pistons his pelvis through it, crying out.

"God," he breathes, shoving his fingers through Chris' hair.

"Forgiven?" Chris exhales.

"God, yes. Yes, forgiven." He smirks, tugging Chris' bottom lip with his teeth. "Fucker."


End file.
